


No Stranger to Me

by Mareel



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Love, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Season 4, Time Travel, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 05:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2297849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mareel/pseuds/Mareel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some memories endure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Stranger to Me

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place sometime after Season 4 during an unspecified mission. Jonathan and Malcolm have an established relationship. It is a companion piece to the Western genre story [The Stranger](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2242923), this being Jonathan's view of events.
> 
> Prompts were lovers, horseback riding, footwear.

 

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How many Marshal Reeds can there possibly be in the state of Kansas and the Oklahoma Territory?

I don’t know the answer to that, but based on the pronunciation, I’ve found at least three. Read, Reid, and Reed appear to be pretty common names around these parts. My search for one in particular has been hampered by the need to maintain a low-key approach to my inquiries, lest I inadvertently compromise his mission. 

The time for that caution is past. The fugitive that Marshal Reed was sent here to track down and apprehend is safely behind bars, at least according to the local news sources. It’s time for Malcolm to come home. 

There’s a good chance this is the right town. But while I’ve heard talk of a Marshal Reed bandied about in the local saloon, as I’ve found before, that’s never a sure thing. Of course I’ll know him when I see him, but he’s apparently been away and has been keeping a low profile upon his return. 

I’m a patient man, but the mores of the American old west can be tricky as I try to maintain my own cover as a traveller of unknown origin or purpose. I’ve heard it whispered that I’m a card shark, taking up residence in a place only long enough to fleece the locals before moving on. I’d admit to being a pretty good poker player, but I’m not that good. Still, it’s as good a cover story as any, and I don’t dissuade them of it. 

The Last Drop Saloon is a busy place, night and day. I’ve chatted with Miss Adelle about the town and its people, correctly guessing that she’d know most everyone. It wasn’t so easy to decline the attentions of her working girls, but a word or two stammered haltingly to one of them about a war injury preventing my enjoyment of such pleasures seemed to turn solicitation into sympathy and I dodged that bullet. 

Ironically, it’s something Miss Adelle mentioned in passing about the town’s Marshal that makes me nearly certain I’ve found Malcolm. He has displayed no interest in the girls either, remaining friendly but aloof. That’s a hard act to pull off over time, but it doesn’t surprise me that he would do it. 

So I sit in the Last Drop every afternoon and evening, playing cards, drinking, exchanging small news and picking up on local gossip. I know he’ll get curious about the mysterious stranger in town eventually, and will come to me. 

Speaking of the devil… this might be the day. My table in the saloon gives me a partially obstructed view of the swinging door entryway. And the man on the other side of those doors looks a hell of a lot like Malcolm. The black hat adds inches and its shadow obscures his face, but I can see enough to be sure even before he pushes open the doors and steps inside.

The way he does a quick survey of the premises upon entering is pure Malcolm. I look directly at him, catching his eyes and nodding toward the empty chair at my table. He doesn’t acknowledge me, but moves deliberately in my direction, standing beside the offered seat.

“Marshall Reed? Have a seat? Can I buy you a drink?”

He asks my name and I give it. There’s no sign of recognition; apparently Phlox’s memory blur about his past is intact. We make a bit of small talk, and I shamelessly indulge in the opportunity to appraise, and admire, the man seated beside me. I know him well enough to know he’s not immune to my gaze, and know it’s time to begin the ending of the masquerade.

“Malcolm.” 

In answer to his unspoken question, I tell him that how I know his name is a bit complicated and best discussed more privately. I’m not sure whether I’m talking to the Garfield County Marshal or to my tactical officer at this point, but the response I get is the same. His small nod acknowledges the need for privacy and we make as unobtrusive an exit as possible. Which is to say that everyone in the place notices it. 

I’m incredibly grateful that he trusts me enough to arrange to meet at his cabin outside town. I take my time saddling up the roan, allowing him a few minutes lead. We take different routes, and I don’t believe I was followed. Maybe the townsfolk figure he’s run me out of town, which suits me fine. 

Watching him as he stables the horses, I’m struck by things I never knew about the man, despite being together for many years. Besides his surprising skill with horses, I'd also never realized how good he would look in western wear. But the response _that_ provokes in me will have to wait. I need him to trust me as I tell him about his real identity. 

It takes less time and talk than I thought it might. On some level he recognized me as someone he felt like he knew, and without taking my eyes from his, I reached for his hand. He didn’t pull away. 

I sigh in relief. We are going to be all right. He’d kept the memory of his lover safely buried beneath the blurred surface of his profession and timeline. His kiss tells me all I need to know, and I return it, murmuring, “I’ve missed you so much, Malcolm.”

After making sure we weren’t followed and ensuring out privacy, we begin undressing one another. He removes his own gun belt and lays it carefully on the small bedside table, with easy reach of course. 

I smile as he toes off his black leather cowboy boots. The quartermaster back on Enterprise had chosen them well when he outfitted Malcolm for the mission. 

“I remember those boots. I recognized them when you were standing outside the saloon door. I was sure I’d finally found you.”

“The boots are lovely. But I don’t recall purchasing them… it’s like I’ve had them forever. I suppose that’s part of what you say I don’t remember.”

There is a trace of uncertainty in his voice, and I want to be sure I’m not pushing him too fast. As much as I hate to let him go after finding him again, I have to offer him an option. “You might be safer here tonight if I go back into town. The folks here wouldn’t take kindly to what we’re about to do.”

In response, he molds his body to mine as if he belongs there in my arms, and whispers that he doesn’t want to be alone. I know he isn’t referring only to our plans for tonight.

“Nor do I, Malcolm. Never again.”

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End file.
